


Jeeves and the Fox Hunt

by Niektete (therealfroggy)



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: Hunting, M/M, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 10:49:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/Niektete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertie and Jeeves receive an invitation to join Aunt Dahlia's hunting party. But more importantly, Bertie might want to try something entirely new while they're at Brinkley Courty, and it has nothing to do with wearing a red coat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jeeves and the Fox Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: there's fox hunting. The graphic hunting bits aren't included, and no, I don't think it's a nice sport, but it's traditional and Bertie would undoubtedly have participated if he'd had the chance, being a traditional English gentleman. But my sister read this and she cries when people eat ham, and she agreed that it's not offensive :) Enjoy!

If you've been following these little chronicles of mine, you should be well aware of the nature of the relationship between young Bertram and his valet. If not, well, it's not all that complicated, really. My valet, being an utter delight in every way, has captured the heart of the last Wooster, and he assures me I have captured his, as well. His heart, that is.

Furthermore, the heart is far from the only part of the Wooster anatomy that Jeeves has captured, I can tell you, but I suppose such information is not relevant at this juncture in the narrative. And such i. is certainly not something one lets loose on the unsuspecting public without a certain hesitance, neither; there are ladies' sensitivities and legal action to be considered, Jeeves tells me.

Though I'm dashed if I know why love should be offending anyone, be it between chaps or fillies or a healthy mixture of both.

Where was I? Ah, yes. All in all, Jeeves and I were living snug as two peas in a pod, and had been for a few years, when the invitation came to join my aunt Dahlia at Brinkley Court for the hunting season. The old girl used to lead hunting parties, you know; at the sound of her voice, foxes say their last prayers and accept their imminent doom. And though she's been out of the game for years, she still insists that we all go out and make fools out of ourselves for sport.

At least, that is most often the result. Still, I suppose one must humour aged relatives, so when he brought me the letter along with my morning Darjeeling, I told Jeeves to pack our things and prepare for a week or two of Anatole's cooking.

“We are to go hunting, Jeeves.”

Jeeves inclined his head. “Very good, sir. Shall I pack our tweed sports coat?”

“Well, you may pack it if you wish, Jeeves, but I don't think I shall be needing it. I shall ask uncle Tom to lend me one of his scarlet ones.”

Jeeves almost frowned. “Scarlet is a very vivid colour, sir.”

I smiled indulgently at my man. That particular aspect of our relationship would never change, no matter how many times Jeeves kissed me in the secrecy of the bedroom. He would always call me sir outside of said b., and I would suffer his displeasure should I wear something unsuitable.

“Yes, it is, Jeeves. A very vivid colour indeed. But it is traditional for the hunt, what?”

“True, sir. And our charcoal suit with the subtle lavender pinstripe?”

“You like that suit, don't you, Jeeves?”

“Very much, sir.”

“Oh, alright, then. I shall wear it at Brinkley.”

“Thank you, sir.”

And with a fond smile, Jeeves kissed me briefly before removing the breakfast tray and going about his business.

***

Driving with Jeeves is one of my favourite activities. The two-seater goes like the wind if one knows how to handle it, and when one has Jeeves' arm around one's shoulders and the wind in one's hair, life would be hard pressed to be sweeter. But, all good things must come to their inevitable e., and so we found ourselves outside Brinkley Court all too soon.

I gave the horn a cheery tootle to alert all and sundry that we were there. Seppings, the butler, came out to take charge of our bags, and Jeeves biffed off with him to make sure the young master was properly installed in the right bedroom.

“Bertie,” said my aunt Dahlia, approaching with a benign grimace. “Eyesore, how are you?”

“Oh, excellent, aged relation; just excellent. All is well here, I trust? The hunt approaching and whatnot?”

“Oh, I'm looking forward to it, Bertie,” said aunt Dahlia. We ankled inside. “We'll be wearing colours. Do you have a hunting jacket? Tom can lend you one of his; my parlourmaid can find you one from his younger days.”

“Colours, eh? So young Bertram is finally allowed the scarlet? Last time I joined one of your hunting parties, I wore tweed all season,” I remarked. I remembered that I used to long for a scarlet coat when I was younger.

“Oh, last time you were barely out of Oxford, you dolt. Now, do you think you could persuade Jeeves to join the hunt? We're a few men short.”

“Jeeves!” I exclaimed. “My man? Why, I don't even know if he rides.”

“Of course he rides,” aunt Dahlia scoffed. “A man like Jeeves, not ride? What a notion.”

“Well, I shall ask him,” I agreed. I rather liked the idea that Jeeves and the young master would ride abreast in the fields and woods, joined in the exhilaration and whatsit of the thing. “But I don't think he has any tweed with him.”

“Tosh, Bertie! Jeeves has solved enough of your muck-ups to be considered a family friend when the occasion merits it. I'll have the parlourmaid bring him a coat, too.”

I'll admit the Wooster heart gave a good flutter inside the Wooster breast at this. Of course I could never mention, even to my dearest aunt, what, exactly, my valet meant to me, but it was still awfully bracing to hear her approve of him so.

Then another thought struck me, and I chuckled. “He will look frightful in scarlet.”

***

I popped up to my room to change for dinner, and found Jeeves sorting through my silk handkerchiefs. “Ah, Jeeves. You've been installed in the customary rooms downstairs, have you?”

“Yes, sir.”

I closed and locked the door before approaching Jeeves. “I say, it's a bally shame that you're always cooped up in the servants' quarters, when this bed is large enough for two. But it can't be helped, I suppose.”

“No, sir. Appearances must be maintained.”

“True, true. Well, at least you won't be kept indoors all of tomorrow.”

“Sir?”

“Aunt Dahlia wants you to join the hunt, Jeeves.”

“Indeed, sir?”

“Yes, Jeeves. She seems to feel that since Angela and her friend, that miss Barnett, are hunting, and she – that is, aunt Dahlia – is bringing her auntly friends to the table, that the females are overrepresented, Jeeves.”

“I was not aware, sir, that there must be an equal share of male and female hunters?” Jeeves said, and he sounded evasive. I have known Jeeves long enough to know that he will never go strictly against an aunt's wishes, but rather come over all evasive and politely decline in a wholly roundabout way, and so I tried to reason with him.

“But won't you enjoy it, Jeeves?”

“I really can't say, sir. I've never hunted.”

“There's a first for everything, eh, Jeeves?”

“I have not got the proper attire for it, sir.”

“Aha, but you see, this is the best part!” I said, with no little amount of glee. “Aunt Dahlia said that she wanted to see you in colour, too, Jeeves! She'll find us a scarlet coat each; uncle Tom has a cupboard full. We can surely manage the trousers, what, Jeeves?”

Jeeves straightened slowly, and his darling ivory cheeks seemed to pale. “Sir!”

“What?”

“Mrs Travers wishes me to participate... wearing colours?”

“She went so far as to call you an old family friend, Jeeves,” I said, smiling at the man. “I know we can never tell anyone about this... ah, what did that Wilde chap call it, Jeeves?”

“It was the poet's friend, sir Alfred Douglas, who called it the love who dares not speak its name, sir.”

“Ah, yes. This mute love of ours, Jeeves, must remain a secret. But it still warms the old heartstrings that my favourite aunt should so approve of you, what?”

Jeeves almost smiled at that. “It is an honour, sir. But will the Master of the Fox Hounds -”

I grinned at him. “My aunt Dahlia _is_ the master of the hounds, Jeeves. Or, should we call her mistress of them? Well, regardless, she trumps uncle Tom in these matters, and anyone else, for that matter.”

I could tell my valet was not altogether pleased by these news. “Highly controversial, sir.”

“Well, yes, but you know how the old girl is with hounds and foxes, Jeeves. She loves hunting, and she won't be elbowed out of it. And if she says you are to ride with the best of them, wearing top hat and scarlet coat, who are we mere mortals to argue, eh, Jeeves?” I said, lighting a gasper. “I'm sure you'll enjoy hunting. And I'll certainly enjoy having you at my side.”

That softened Jeeves' doubtful fraction of a frown. “I am gratified to hear it, sir.”

He put the last handkerchief in place and sat on the bed next to the young master, taking my cigarette from me before bringing it to his own lips. It had taken some effort on my part, but I was proud that I had, over the years, managed to make Jeeves loosed up this much when we were alone together.

“Though it is highly unusual, I will acquiesce with Mrs Travers' request. For your sake... Bertram.”

I'll be dashed if that didn't send five kinds of tingles through the old spinal chord. With a happy sigh, I tilted my head up to kiss my valet. We tasted of the same tobacco, but Jeeves always tastes so perfectly Jeevesian in his own way, no matter what he's been inhaling or imbibing, that hardly anything can detract from the pleasure of a kiss – not even Turkish tobacco.

“We have a little time before the dinner gong sounds, eh, Jeeves?” I murmured against his lips. I was loathe to release them, even for such a short while.

“Not enough for a bath, sir.”

I knew my valet was concerned about the young master's appearance, but my appearance could boil its head for all I cared.

“Never mind the bath, Jeeves. I won't make such a frightful mess of our appearances, what? Just a little while?”

“Very good, sir,” Jeeves agreed, and we slowly tipped over on the bed until we were lying side by side, our arms tightly around each other. Jeeves' lips were tantalizingly soft, and I nipped them gently.

“Allow me, sir,” Jeeves said softly, cupping me through my trousers.

“Oh, yes, please, Jeeves,” I gasped, feeling his capable hand gently squeeze my aroused flesh.

Jeeves quickly opened my trousers and rolled me to my back. The sight of my valet over me, efficiently opening every button and fly in his way, made the old onion spin. Before I could even voice my appreciation, Jeeves had my manhood free and in his hand, stroking it slowly.

“Jeeves,” I whimpered. I will admit to whimpering when my man treats me in such a way, and I am not ashamed of it, either.

“Allow me to minimize the risk of staining, sir,” Jeeves said, with a playful twinkle in his eye. Then he slid to his knees on the floor, and bent to his self-appointed task.

Jeeves is a very eloquent man. I should say he has a fast tongue, even if it is frightfully polite all the time. When encountering the hardness of one B. Wooster, however, that tongue is faster than ever, and soft as velvet to boot. It was with him the work of a moment to reduce the young master to incoherency.

“Oh!” I gasped, arching under him. Jeeves' clever tongue coaxed me closer to ecstasy with every single flick, and I was hard pressed to utter as much as that “oh”. I dug my fingers into the bedspread, writhing indecently.

The pleasure finally overtook me, and I moaned my man's name with delight.

“Jeeves!”

Jeeves swallowed and released my flesh, then joined me on the bed, kissing me. “You are satisfied, Bertram?”

I could only moan again, clinging to him with trembling hands. “Oh, Jeeves!”

“We must get you dressed, sir. The dinner gong will sound soon.”

I finally got the old goggles to focus on Jeeves' smiling face. “What? But Jeeves -”

Just then the gong sounded, of course. I reached for Jeeves, but he stilled my hands.

“You will be late for dinner, sir. If it is agreeable to you, I will return tonight.”

Quite the impish grin spread over my face at the thought of that return. “For a bit of reciprocation, what?”

Jeeves gave me a subtle smirk. “Precisely, sir.”

***

Dinner seemed to last two lifetimes. Usually, I'm all for mangling Anatole's finest in the company of aunt Dahlia and cousin Angela, these being two of my favourite relatives. And the hunting party was assembled; quite a jolly bunch. I knew some of them, others were friendly strangers to me. But despite jolly company, and Anatole's experimentation with tender, roast veal covered in a multitude of fragrant spices, my mind was otherwise employed.

That is, I was longing so deeply for the moment when Jeeves would finally wrap me in his arms once again, that I had no time for thinking about food or favourable aunts and cousins. I barely sat down for half a snootful of whiskey after dinner with the others, and then made good my escape, telling the assembled company that I wanted to rest in preparation for the hunt the following day.

“Well, pip-pip!” I said, and legged it up the stairs.

I found Jeeves waiting for me in the bedroom. My pyjamas and dressing gown were laid out on the bed, and the room looked immaculate, as always. Jeeves himself had been straightening an invisible wrinkle in the bedsheets, but turned to face me when I entered.

“You anticipated the young master retiring early, Jeeves?” I asked, locking the door behind me. Jeeves had had to warn me about this in the past; I often forgot such things, but the fact that we were at Brinkley Court and not in our own flat, had registered deeply in the Wooster brain.

“Yes, sir. I noticed your impatience during dinner.” And he smiled, shimmered close to me, and cupped my cheek. “Were you thinking of me, Bertie?”

“You bally know I was, Jeeves. I hardly remember what we had for dinner.”

Jeeves kissed me chastely. “I am flattered, sir, that not even Monsieur Anatole's cooking could distract you. I will endeavour to meet the expectations which must have arisen.”

I grabbed him by the lapels and pulled, bringing his excellent lips within range of my own. “You always do, Jeeves. Will you let me...”

He pressed his lips to mine, and we stumbled towards the bed, the labial press still in effect. Though Bertie is normally an eloquent and graceful bird, Jeeves consist... cons... consist-something renders me a babbling, stumbling fool. And you won't find me complaining, either.

Jeeves began undressing me, letting every last article fall carelessly to the floor as he removed them from the Wooster corpus. You'd never guess it, but my man cares not one jot for the well-being of one's attire when one is about to indulge in the delights of the flesh. One of the reasons that he spends so much time cleaning and pressing our clothes, is that said clothes are torn from frames and crumpled on the floor more often than can be good for them.

This was also the case on this occ. Jeeves, having divested me of every last stitch and leaving e. l. s. thrown carelessly to the floor, began removing his own stitches. I could do little more than tug ineffectively at his tie, and I think I might even have torn off a shirt button in my haste to reveal the skin beneath.

“May I, Jeeves?” I gasped, sliding my hands down Jeeves' back to grasp his buttocks through the perfectly pressed trousers. “Please?”

“Yes,” Jeeves hissed, and kissed me again. Nothing more was said until we were both on display as God intended, and Jeeves pulled me down on the bed with him. We rolled around quite a bit, kissing and rubbing against each other. The rolling thing is my favourite part, for I can never decide what I like better – having Jeeves lying on top of me as a huge human blanket, or having him under me in wanton surrender.

Jeeves, from the very first of our encounters, has always been on the, ah, receiving end of these intimate encounters. Not that the man doesn't give a whole lot – like earlier that evening, for example, when he'd made quite the show of providing for the young master. What I mean to say is, it is I who assume the traditionally masculine position.

Oh, dash it, it is I who bugger Jeeves, and never the other way around. There. In this, if not in matters sartorial, he surrenders to me completely.

“In the bedside drawer, Bertie,” Jeeves said in my ear. He was nibbling on my neck in between words. “The small pot of Vaseline is in the right-hand corner.”

With a hungry groan, I fumbled around in said d. a bit, and located the stuff. Dashed handy, it is. Jeeves rolled to his stomach, and stretched out, his hands under his chin by way of a pillow.

“Can I...”

“Yes, Bertie.”

I admit I was rather heaving for breath as I dug some of the squishy stuff out of the pot and coated my fingers in it. I ask Jeeves for permission to do this on each separate occasion; it doesn't seem right, somehow, that I should demand this from my man, when it requires such... what's the word I want? Not weakness... Vulnerability! That's the chap. Such vulnerability on his part.

“We shall have to be quiet,” I said, and I'm dashed if my voice wasn't rather hoarse. I applied two fingers to Jeeves' most secret place, and he shivered.

“Yes,” Jeeves sighed. It could have been a reply, but it could also have been my fingers penetrating him – dashed if I know.

The warm, smooth skin of my valet's buttocks was tempting beyond reason, and I placed little biting kisses there while my fingers coated his opening with the Vaseline. Jeeves let out a sound much like a purr, and I could see his shoulders rising slightly as he breathed deeply.

Jeeves' body always feels like tight, burning velvet around me. A phrase Rosie M. Banks herself would be ashamed to use, but there you have it – there is no comparison to the way his body tightens and pulls at you, first your fingers and finally your arousal.

I withdrew my fingers hesitantly, and coated myself in the slippery stuff. “Ready, Jeeves?”

Jeeves raised himself to his elbows, and turned his brilliant head around to look at me. I distinctly detected fondness in his gaze. “I have been waiting since I tasted you before dinner. Bugger me, Bertram.”

Once more, the head spun and the senses were filled with nothing but Jeeves. I nudged his legs with mine, and he spread them wider. I laid down over him, and felt the warmth of his body draw me in. I took myself in hand and prepared to thrust inside him.

“Jeeves,” I panted, before I sank slowly inside my beloved valet, “I love you, you know that?”

Jeeves merely moaned, rather than answering. The broad shoulders and back flexed under my hands as I sought all the skin I could reach. I held still, breathing in his scent, feeling his body fit around me utterly perfectly.

“Oh, Bertie,” Jeeves gasped. He twisted his head back so that our lips could brush briefly. He pushed back against my hips.

I leaned my weight on my elbows, and rocked in and out of Jeeves' heat a few times. “I love you very much, Jeeves. Oh!”

Jeeves shuddered under me, and I pressed my lips to his shoulder blade. The tightness around my hard flesh was threatening to send me into a frenzy; I restrained myself and forced myself to move with slow, deep, intent thrusts. After a few of these, however, I stilled.

“Jeeves,” I hissed, “come here,”

I took hold of the man's left hip and pulled, bringing him with me as I rolled to my side. My manhood slipped out of him, but he obligingly lifted his leg a fraction so I could push back inside. We were now on our sides.

“I want to touch you, Jeeves,” I whispered in his ear, and took his own manhood into my hand. I gave it a few languid strokes, and Jeeves moaned in my arms.

“Bertie,” he said softly. Then his voice seemed to fail him; I had just tightened my grip on him and given him a few more pulls.

I was barely moving my hips as I resumed my thrusts, but my hand was moving fast and sure over Jeeves' hardness. My valet gave a strangled groan and craned his head around once more. This time, the kiss was more than a mere brushing of lips.

“I would like to see you climax while I am inside you, Jeeves,” I suggested hopefully, a certain strain to my voice no doubt due to the fact that I was exercising strong restraint to refrain from pushing into Jeeves repeatedly until I climaxed, myself.

“Certainly, sir.”

There was a little breathless laughter in Jeeves' voice as he said that, and I joined him with a throaty chuckle. A perfect valet does not cease to be a perfect valet just because he is being buggered.

And though my hips gently bucked against Jeeves' h's, it was my hand that was the main focus at the moment, if you get me. I sort of nibbled on his shoulder as I stroked him, and though Jeeves is a dashed sight more massive than yours truly, I managed to reach all the crucial places at once, if you get my meaning.

“Bertie!” Jeeves gasped, and I surmised I must have found the spot just under the head of Jeeves' hardness that always makes him writhe, gasp, moan or otherwise express his delight. I repeated that particular flick of my wrist, and Jeeves repeated the sentiment.

“You are indescribably delicious like this, Jeeves,” I told him in dulcet tones. “You feel... What's the word I want, Jeeves?”

“Bertie, oh!”

I grinned against his skin. “Not precisely the word I was looking for, old thing.”

“Please, Bertie, don't tease me,” Jeeves begged, and I couldn't refuse such a plea. I stroked him until he was literally thrashing about, calling my name in hushed tones. And just as I was resuming my thrusts once more, Jeeves began twitching and stiffening in my arms. I gripped him a little tighter and stroked eagerly, until I could feel the sticky evidence of his pleasure slick my grip.

No words could be discerned in the soft cry that Jeeves gave just then. But it had barely left his lips before he moaned my name, and arched into my touch.

“Oh, Bertie,” he gasped, slowly shuddering. “That was... indescribable.”

“Quite,” I said with quite a grin. Then I pushed against Jeeves' back, and we both rolled until I was back on top, so to speak.

“The bedsheets -”

“Will smell of you, which I'll find wonderful.” I gave a few more thrusts. “May I, Jeeves?”

“Oh, yes, sir.”

The brilliant, darling man had the strength to raise his hips off the bed, so I had... ahem... an easier task, one might say, plundering Jeeves' depths. And now it was my turn to lose all traces of eloquence; as soon as I began thrusting in earnest, rutting like a dog in heat against Jeeves, my brain apparently went shooting out the window.

“Jeeves, Jeeves,” I panted, grasping his hip with one hand to pull us harder together. “Jeeves!”

Jeeves' back was arching under me, and I found myself placing wet kisses along the spine. The pleasure was almost overwhelming me; I gasped when his body clenched around me.

“Jeeves!”

I climaxed sharply and suddenly, crying out quite loudly, I'm afraid. As I shuddered like a jelly over my man, sucking down lungfuls of air to calm my racing heart, he laid very still beneath me, and I suspect the warmth of him was the only thing keeping my mind in one piece.

“By Jove,” I panted, sinking down over Jeeves' broad back. “By... by Jeeves!”

Jeeves chuckled warmly at this. “Thank you, sir.”

“Did they hear us, you think?”

“The contingency is remote. And if someone did inadvertently hear you, the only word you said was my name, sir. Hardly incriminating in itself. We could always find a plausible excuse for the... tone of voice you used.”

With a sated sigh, I pulled myself free of Jeeves, and he reached down to the floor next to the bed, retrieving from somewhere a bit of cloth. He then proceeded to do a bit of wiping, which was, I suppose, rather a good idea.

“You think of everything, Jeeves.”

“I had anticipated this outcome, sir.”

I chortled. “I can bally well believe it, you... what's the word I want, Jeeves? The one that sounds like a fur coat.”

Jeeves laid down again, on his back this time, and closed his eyes with an expression of contentment on his handsome face. “I should take affront to any suggestion that I, in any way, resemble a fur coat, Bertie.”

I laid down, more on top of Jeeves than off him, and kissed whatever skin I found close to my lips. “By no means, Jeeves; I meant the word. It sounds like some small, furry animal.”

“Minx, perhaps?”

“That's the chap! Yes, Jeeves; you minx. Ha!”

Had Jeeves been any other cove, the sound he made could have been called a snort. A derisive one, at that.

“Hardly, sir. The term refers to a particular type of woman.”

“Well, you... you dashed handsome, clever invert, then. Is there a word that indicates these words, Jeeves?”

Jeeves almost smiled at me, and pulled me to him for a bit of tongue action. Then he murmured, “If there is, there must surely be a word for charming, light-hearted homosexual as well, Bertie.”

“You know, I don't think there is, Jeeves.”

His chest rumbled under my cheek as he hummed in agreement.

“But you may assume, my dear man, that when I say Jeeves, I do indeed mean handsome, clever invert. My invert, that is,” I explained.

“Indeed, sir.”

I yawned. I can't think what can be more delicious and tiring in one, than making love to Jeeves. “I think I shall go to sleep in this precise spot, Jeeves.”

“I could not advise it. Mr Samson, a valet to one of the hunting party's senior members, who shares my room in the servants' quarters, will become suspicious should I prolong my absence. Nothing arouses curiosity and suspicion like an empty bed or a locked door.”

I mulled this over for a tic. “Yes,” I said, “you're quite right. If there was ever a thing that drew me like the m. to the f. when I was a boy, it was a locked door. Still, it's a shame, what? My mornings improve a whole score of jots with you in the sheets alongside the young master, Jeeves.”

Jeeves kissed me deeply, but shifted me off his chest and began dressing before I could return the kiss with as much gusto as I would have liked. I watched him as he dressed; one moment a vision of loveliness in pale skin and mussed hair, and the next he was wrapped in too many layers of starched and pressed clothing.

But still lovely, you understand. Just a completely different set of lovely.

While helping me into my pyjamas, Jeeves said, “I will return tomorrow morning and get our... costumes... ready for the hunt.”

Then he kissed me tenderly. “Goodnight, Bertie.”

I sighed and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Goodnight, Jeeves.”

And then he had suddenly left the room, and I climbed between the covers and resigned myself to a Jeeves-less night. The lack of Jeeves in the chamber was not absolute, though, for I could still smell him on the sheets. So I did drift off to the land of Nod eventually, and I dreamt of Jeeves holding me tight for the better part of the night.

***

“Come along, Bertie! The horses are waiting,” Angela called as she passed me in the hall. She and her giggling friend were both in navy coats, and Angela had told me – quite plainly – at breakfast that she felt sorry for me, having to wear scarlet.

“I never met a man yet who looks like anything in scarlet,” she said at the time.

Well. Bertram can take the smooth with the rough – or is it the rough with the smooth – and the elation I felt at wearing scarlet for the first time, could not be diminished in the slightest by female insults. And when I thought of Jeeves and I riding together, I simply smiled back at her sharp tongue.

“Yes, I'll be out in a mo,” I called after her. I was waiting for Jeeves; the man had tried – to the very last – to weasel his way out of wearing colours, even going so far as to show up in his ordinary attire with my tea. But aunt Dahlia had caught him at it when she followed the maid to my room with the coats; you know the ones we would borrow from uncle Tom; and told him in a tone that brooked no argument that he was to change immediately.

But Jeeves had postponed dressing himself until he had finished dressing the young master, and so I was waiting for him in the entrance hall, busying myself with a gasper.

Then I heard the polite cough of a sheep on a distant hillock – or, as the case was, on the stairs behind me. I turned around, and promptly dropped my gasper.

“Jeeves!” I exclaimed.

He was a sight to behold! My word, I have never seen Jeeves in any colour but black, white and a greyish sort of blue – his pyjamas – and it was a bit of a shock to the system, I can tell you, to see him in a snugly fitted red coat, black top hat, and pale cream trousers. Also very snug, I might add.

“Sir?” the man replied. He cleared his throat softly, straightened his cuffs efficiently, and descended the stairs with as much dignity as I have ever seen him descend any set of s.

“I say!”

Jeeves gave me a look that clearly stated he was not pleased with the current arrangement. Glancing about to make sure we were alone in the hall, he muttered the most straightforward thing I have ever heard from his lips.

“Please put an end to this farce, I beg you. I look positively ridiculous, sir.”

I laughed rather heartily. “Jeeves! Don't talk rot, man; you look positively dashing! Absolutely topping, my man! I've never seen anyone so well suited to the scarlet.”

And by no means did I mean for it to sting; he looked handsomer than I had ever seen him! Possibly with the exception of the moment when I had first brought him to climax some years ago; that was an image forever etched onto the Wooster mind.

“Sir, please,” Jeeves said, speaking urgently and quietly. “This is beyond improper; I am a valet, and my place is -”

I stopped him with a hand to his forearm. “Yes, you're a valet, Jeeves. But you are first and foremost the love of the young master's life, and your place is by my side. Aren't you glad we have this small opportunity to... what's the word I want, Jeeves?”

“Demonstrate, sir, a completely unseemly show of impropriety that will end up in -”

“No, no, Jeeves, I was aiming for demonstrating our love, or something like that. Come now, it's not bad at all! You look absolutely topping, as I said, and we are to go hunting with the family and friends. What could be more delightful, what?”

I slapped him on the shoulder, receiving a long-suffering gaze for my troubles, and legged it outside. Jeeves, ever the paragon of gentlemen's personal gentlemen, followed me.

My aunt Dahlia greeted us from atop her noble steed, shouting across the courtyard. “Dogface! There you are. And Jeeves, my word! I'm stunned!”

Jeeves was bally well oozing disapproval! I grinned at my dear blood relation and gave a cheery wave. As we approached the horses, I noticed the rest of the company were also mounting and shouting for all their money's worth. The spirit of the thing filled the otherwise grey October morning with cheer and lively antici-whatsit.

A servant-type johnnie stood by two horses, holding them by the reins, and waved in my direction. “Mr Wooster, sir! Mr Jeeves! These are your animals!”

“I say, marvellous!” I said.

My aunt doesn't keep many horses, but I hear the hunting parties often bring their own animals along, and these ones were of good breed; one could tell. They stood like good-natured things, awaiting our arrival. The light of intelligence was almost shining in their eyes, if horses were capable of such things as intelligent light.

“Sir, please,” Jeeves hissed – hissed, I tell you – as I took the reins of one horse, and he the other. “I must ask once more that you permit me to exclude myself from this endeavour.”

“What on earth for, Jeeves?” I said. I loved the man dearly, but I could not for the life of me see what he was talking about. “Everyone is wearing the same, and it's completely traditional. You'll have nothing to worry about.”

“Sir, I cannot ride.”

Well! If that did not knock me for a loop, I don't know what did.

“Jeeves!” I said, staring at the man. “You mean to say that you've never ridden a horse?”

“No, sir.”

“Not even once?”

“Not since I was a boy, sir, and hardly then. A friend of the family owned a Fell pony, which I rode once or twice. The animal did not take to me, sir.”

I was agog! That something should be above or beyond Jeeves, this very best of men, was more than the Wooster mind could fathom. And he chose this moment to tell me this?

“Must all hunt members ride, sir?” he asked quietly, and I detected a note of pleading in his voice! “Is there no need for a footman?”

“Not one in colour,” I admitted. “I mean to say, if aunt Dahlia hadn't specifically requested you ride with us in colour, we could have gotten you in with the whippers-in, or perhaps as an honorary secretary. But you'll have to bear it, I'm afraid.”

Jeeves' brows drew together fractionally, but he said nothing. “If you will mount your horse, sir, I will watch you and attempt to imitate your technique.”

I put one leg in the stirrup and swung myself up. The animal danced a few steps, but kept quite calm; I believe it knew at sight that I was an experienced rider. Though polo was never my sport, I had given it a go back in the day, and I wasn't completely rotten at it.

Jeeves, luckily aided by his height, managed to get one foot into the stirrup easily enough. He paused for a second, as if at a loss as to how to proceed. Then he firmly grasped the saddle and heaved himself onto the animal's back.

Now, I've been stretched out beneath a sleeping, relaxed Jeeves on a number of occasions. And I can tell you that the man is as heavy as his bulging head suggests; everything about him is massive, from his brain to his... well, other bits.

The animal, however, didn't seem to be feeling the weight one bit. It was a sturdy thing; probably not a flyer, but a strong one. Much like Jeeves, I imagine. But unlike Jeeves, it was not new to this riding business. It gave its head a toss, and Jeeves' knuckles tightened on the reins.

I heard the horns being sounded, and dogs began barking. Aunt Dahlia and a few others pushed their animals to a trot, and one by one, the horses set out at a leisurely pace towards the hunting grounds. We followed, making up the rear of the party.

“I say, Jeeves, one thing puzzles me,” I said. “Yesterday, you said, well, you said that you would come hunting with us...” I glanced about to check for spies. “For my sake. And today you've changed your mind.”

Jeeves' tone was a chorus of icicles when he answered, despite the way he stiffly rocked in counterpoint to his horse's pace. “I believed, sir, that I would be able to contrive some excuse for not participating. I was wrong.”

I gave him a Wooster stare. “Jeeves, you disappoint me. You mean to say that you had planned to oil your way out of this? Despite your declared intent to do this for the young master's sake?”

Jeeves sighed. “Forgive me, sir. I am sure this endeavour will prove enjoyable. But you must understand my reluctance, sir, to defy decorum and wear this ostentatious costume, when I cannot even ride a horse.”

The man had my sympathy in spades after that.

“I shall teach you, Jeeves,” I said, smiling at him. “First off, you must forget what you are wearing. Consider this a fancy dress occasion, what? Tradition and all that rot.”

He gave a tiny quirk of the lips. “True, sir. I believe the vivid scarlet colour may be overlooked for the moment.”

“Secondly, Jeeves, you must relax.”

He gave me a look that made me want to blush. “Really, sir?”

“Well, yes, Jeeves. You sit on that animal as if it was a car seat. You must allow your weight to shift with its movements, or you'll take a tumble as soon as you jump a hedge.”

A stricken look of panic crossed Jeeves' features, discernible only by the slight paling of his cheeks and minuscule widening of his eyes. “Jump, sir?”

“Oh, well, that'll come later, don't worry,” I hastened to explain. My heart bled for the man; going through all this trouble and discomfort. I could well imagine how he must feel at the prospect of jumping hedges on top of it all. “For now, Jeeves, merely... untense a little, what?”

“Untense, sir?”

“Yes, Jeeves, untense. Relax. I know you're capable of the feat; why, just last night -”

Jeeves cleared his throat loudly. “Yes, sir, I understand. But the circumstances were hardly similar.”

I gave him a conspiratory wink. “I'll admit they weren't. But you can't deny that straddling the young master usually has you more than relaxed, what? Pretend it is my midsection you are straddling, Jeeves, rather than a horse's ditto.”

The corner of Jeeves' tempting lips lifted a fraction, and I could see the man would have smiled, had we been alone. “Though the suggestion is an interesting one, sir, I believe it would be safer to keep my mind off such... pleasant pursuits. These trousers have very little power of concealment, should any untoward reactions occur.”

I smiled rather impishly, I admit, at the thought of Jeeves' untoward reactions. They usually ended up in a dashed pleasant mess between the sheets.

Up to that point in the narrative, so to speak, things had been bundling along wonderfully. The horses were walking along, mainly following the others, so Jeeves and I could keep up a soft conversation with little effort. And events continued in much the same vein until we reached the hunting grounds. By the time we approached the other huntsmen, Jeeves looked like he had quite mastered the art of riding.

Then, of course, a dashed lot of chaos promptly ensued. The horns were blown profusely, the hounds unleashed, and aunt Dahlia rode around in it all, shouting orders and what have you. Through it all, Jeeves and I held our ground, but then the start was signalled by a particularly loud horn, and the party set off at a trot.

“Well, come on, Jeeves,” I said. “Just kick him a little in the sides, what?”

Jeeves, looking resolutely dignified, lightly kicked his horse's flanks, and the animal trotted off after the others. I followed at his elbow, just to make sure he didn't take a topple, you understand.

“You have to find the rhythm of the thing, Jeeves,” I advised him when I saw him bouncing in the saddle like a board on a lorry truck. “Use your legs!”

Jeeves caught on rather quickly, for he stopped bouncing and rather sat properly in the saddle after that. I smiled at his broad back just ahead of me on the trail; my man's brilliant brain could adjust to anything he decided to put it to.

“Heel, boy! Scent!”

It was aunt Agatha, calling at the top of her voice for the hounds to behave themselves. Then a caco-something or other of woofing reached our ears. The hounds had picked up scent.

“Tally-ho, Jeeves!” I cried, spurring my horse to a gallop. “Ride on!”

So caught up in the joyous moment was I, that I raced off through the trees, completely forgetting that Jeeves was not an experienced rider. I barely heard his insistent “Sir!” before I was hot on the heels of the other hunters, pursuing the ginger vermin with the best of them.

“What ho, Bertie!” Angela cried, riding abreast of some of the whippers-in.

“What ho, Angela!” I replied, full of _joie de vivre_ and the old Wooster fighting spirit.

“Where's Jeeves?” my cousin asked, still shouting.

“Why, he's right here!” I explained, and turned to look over my shoulder at Jeeves.

He wasn't there.

“I say!” I cried to Angela. “He's not here!”

“I can see that, Bertie,” she cried back. “That's why I asked!”

I was at a loss. Really, where could the man have gone to? Surely he knew enough of the hunt to understand that he was supposed to follow the hounds when they caught scent of a fox? It is a rather nasty discovery to make; one moment, one's valet and love of one's l. is riding beside you, dashing in his red coat, and the next, well, he isn't. One worries, you know, and wonders where he can have gotten off to.

“I shall look for him!” I shouted to Angela, and she waved at me to indicate she had understood.

My horse required a firm hand and a few tugs on the reins before it could be persuaded to slow down and abandon the trail left by the others, but at last the beast left the hunt and trotted peacefully back from whence we had come.

“Jeeves?” I called. I could hear the din of the other hunters and dogs in the distance, but they were in hot pursuit of the foxes and apparently making a good show of it, too. The forest was rather quieting down after their departure, if you see what I mean.

“I say, Jeeves! Where on earth are you, man?”

I heard leaves rustling to my right, and turned my horse, expecting to see Jeeves' scarlet coat. Instead, I saw a lone horse, trotting along quite happily, in the general direction of the hunting party. Then it caught sight of me, and increased its speed a dashed sight more. The animal must have been prejudiced against the riding crop I held, or some such. In mere moments, it was gone.

I rode on, puzzled. What business, one asks oneself, does a horse have riding about the forest with no rider? Saddle, stirrups and reins in place, yes, but rider, no. It simply doesn't fit the picture.

“Jeeves?” I called again.

“Sir, is that you?”

I was nonplussed. I could hear Jeeves' voice responding to my inquiry, but there wasn't a sight of the man to be had. And in that scarlet coat, any man would be hard to miss against such a green background.

“Jeeves, where are you?”

“To your right, sir. Approximately ten feet from the trail.”

Well, this had me even less plussed than his previous remark. To my right, I could see nothing but a rather dense shrubbery.

“I seem to be stuck, sir. If you wouldn't mind assisting me, I believe I should be able to free myself. Do you happen to carry a knife on your person, sir?”

“Well, I'll be dashed!” I said. I hopped down off my horse, and tied it to a convenient branch. “I've got my hunting knife, Jeeves, but I can't bally well see you! Are you sure you're here?”

“Quite certain, sir.”

I approached the shrubbery, and a flash of scarlet lent verisimilitude to Jeeves' claim that he was, indeed, located somewhere in the vicinity of the shrubbery in question. And there he was. On the ground.

“Jeeves!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing there?”

Jeeves' cheeks had acquired a slight touch of colour. He was mortified, which is a rare sight, and one never witnessed by others than the young master, or so Jeeves tells me.

“I have become entangled in these vines, sir. If I might borrow your knife?” he said.

I handed him the tool, and Jeeves deftly cut through the offending plant life. I offered him a hand, and together we extracted him from the mass of branches, dry leaves and thorns. By the time we had him free, Jeeves was looking quite rumpled.

“Good Lord, Jeeves, how did you end up in the shrubbery?” I asked. I removed a few leaves from his hair, and chuckled at how unruly it looked. A dishevelled Jeeves is a thing of beauty, and always makes my mouth go dry and water again in rapid succession.

Jeeves looked grimly into the middle distance as he answered, futilely trying to adjust his cuffs despite the rifts in them. “One presumes the animal did not look with a friendly eye on my presence on its back, sir. It jumped over that log.”

He gestured to an old log, a tree long since fallen, that stretched across the trail. I had jumped it myself.

“But Jeeves, of course the horse jumped! How else should it have gotten over the tree?” I asked him. This seemed simple logic, even to a bird of my brains.

“It jumped the tree, sir, despite my distinct indications it should seek an alternate route,” Jeeves said, in his soupiest voice. The stuffed frog façade was back and in working order.

“You mean, the horse jumped, and you did not?”

“The horse jumped, sir, and kicked backwards as soon as its hoofs touched the ground. This caused me to overbalance and become dislodged from my seat.”

At this point, the Wooster impulse was to laugh. I could think of nothing more absurd than Jeeves, upon failing to persuade the animal to stop or slow its progress, taking a spectacular tumble into the shrubberies beside the path. And all this while dressed in a red coat, no less!

But I refrained. There really was no good in adding insult to injury, and it was only by lucky chance that Jeeves had landed in the shrubbery rather than against a tree or a rock. A brief guffaw may have escaped my lips, but that was all.

“Well, I'm sorry your first hunt should include a fall, Jeeves,” I said, brushing dirt off his lapels. “But, once back in the saddle, we shall have you among the other huntsmen in no time, what?”

Jeeves' eyes betrayed a look of dismayed horror. “Sir, please. I must insist this concludes my efforts in the hunt, if not for the season, at least for today. With your permission, sir, I shall walk back to the house and begin preparations for your bath.”

“Walk, Jeeves?”

“My horse is no longer in my possession, sir.”

“I see. Still, it's quite a few miles back to Brinkley, Jeeves; you can't possibly walk all the way! You can ride with me,” I insisted.

“I will be perfectly fine walking, sir!”

“No, no, Jeeves. I insist. Come now; it's not so bad as all that!”

Jeeves looked quite perturbed at the thought of getting back onto an equine of any sort. I untied my horse and remounted it, determined to encourage him until he rode again.

“See here, Jeeves. You just stand on that stump there, and I shall hold him steady, and you can just hop up behind me.”

Jeeves, though clearly hesitant, did as I suggested. The animal gave a weak protest at having another passenger, but Jeeves chose that moment to put his arms around my waist, and I quite ignored the horse's complaints.

“Hold tight, Jeeves,” I suggested, feeling Jeeves' warmth behind me.

“Yes, sir,” he murmured in my ear, and tightened his grip a little around my midsection. That felt dashed pleasant, but the horse gave another whinny of protest, so I spurred it on in the direction of home.

“I think we've both had enough hunting for today, Jeeves, wouldn't you say?” I asked.

“Quite, sir.”

“But the other hunters will be out for hours yet, what?”

Jeeves' arms around my waist tightened further. His lips were brushing my earlobe as he replied. “Very true, sir.”

The gentlemanly course of action, of course, would be to give Jeeves a ride – if you'll pardon the pun – back to Brinkley Court, and then rejoin the other hunters. But the feeling of Jeeves all but wrapped around me, his soft breath tickling my neck, was sending the rummiest sensations rampaging through the old Wooster corpus, and I intended to act on those sensations.

“I must confess, sir, that I find it much easier to ride a horse under the present conditions, than on my own,” Jeeves murmured in my ear.

I felt the hard heat of Jeeves against the small of my back, and gasped.

“Egad, Jeeves! You mean to say, you find this... stimulating?” I asked. An unmanly squeak had somehow entered my voice, and I sounded rather faint.

Jeeves' body rocked with the animal's movements, as did my own. This caused Jeeves' hardness to rub firmly against my backside, and I groaned at the shot of arousal that produced.

“Most invigorating, sir,” Jeeves said, and his voice held that dark smile that I sometimes see on his face when he is about to induce the young master to make a terrible mess of the bedsheets.

Now, as I mentioned above, Jeeves allows me into his body when we make love. He has never asked, or at all indicated that he wants, to enter me in the same way. But as I felt him press against my back, his arms holding me tightly and his lips brushing my earlobe, I had the sudden thought that I should like to try. To have him enter me, that was.

“Jeeves,” I said. “When we... make love, why is it that you never, ah, take me in the same way I take you?”

I looked about the forest for spies, but none were discernible among the trees. One cannot be too careful where the love that dare not speak its name is concerned.

Jeeves' breath hitched slightly, and his hands splayed wide over my coat, pressing me more fully to him. The horse's movements rocked us both in perfect syn... synch... something.

“I exercise a great deal of control in every other area of my life, sir,” he said, and his hardness seemed to throb against my behind. My mouth went dry. Then he whispered in my ear, “I enjoy offering control to you at these moments, sir. It is a... novel experience for me to relinquish power in such a way to a man I trust. I trust you.”

That sent a surge of warmth through my frame, equal parts lust and love for my marvellous man. My hands tightened on the reins, and the horse slowed its pace to a sedate walk.

“Um... yes... I trust you, too, Jeeves,” I said hoarsely. “And I wondered, well, I was rather curious to know what things feel like from the other end of the scale, if you get my meaning.”

Jeeves chuckled ever so softly against my neck. “Would you like me to bugger you, Bertram?”

I shuddered in his arms. “Oh, yes, Jeeves.”

He kissed the skin just above my collar very gently. “It would be my pleasure, sir. I have never played the dominant part in carnal relations before. I would look forward to the experience.”

At that point, we were both rather straining with untoward reactions, and as Jeeves had previously pointed out, the pale trousers did absolutely nothing to hide such reactions. I halted the horse when we reached the last outskirts of the forest, in sight of the driveway to Brinkley, but out of sight behind the trees.

“Jeeves,” I said, somewhat breathily. “I say, old thing, you couldn't... We should probably tend to... um, to any untoward reactions before approaching the old homestead of aunt Dahlia, what?”

“A sound idea, sir,” Jeeves said, and slid down from the horse's back. The animal seemed to sigh in relief. I followed him, and once more tied the horse to a nearby branch. It is a good thing that horses do not gossip, for I could barely control myself once Jeeves and I were on level ground.

I pressed Jeeves up against a convenient pine, and kissed him pleadingly. “Get these blasted trousers off, Jeeves,” I panted, “so I can taste you.”

“Very good, sir,” Jeeves said, his voice dark and gravelly. He quickly opened his trousers, and mine, as well. I knelt on the soft forest floor before him, and found myself face to face with Jeeves' own _personal gentleman_.

Taking Jeeves' hard flesh into my hand, I looked up at him in admiration. The top hat had been lost when he fell, and his mussed hair still held a few leaves and twigs. The breast of the scarlet coat rose and fell rapidly. His gloved hands were clenching against the tree trunk.

“I love you, Jeeves,” I said warmly, and took him into my mouth.

Jeeves' neck was straining as his head fell back, his mouth slightly open. A deep groan rumbled through him, and I kept my eyes locked on his handsome face, tilting my head just so as I pleasured him. His flesh was hot and tasted of Jeevesian arousal – the finest ambrosia to this Wooster. I eagerly took him deeper into my mouth.

“Bertie,” Jeeves hissed, his hips snapping out to push against my lips. “Please, harder!”

I am never one to kick at such requests from my man. I sucked hard, just as Jeeves likes it, and a hoarse cry was my reward. I also knew that Jeeves would bally well buck, and so I put both hands on his hips to keep him from impaling my throat. Jeeves proved me right, his hips bucking wildly against my hands, and I let him rock minutely over my tongue.

“Bertie!”

And with that moan of my name, Jeeves gave in to his climax, pulsing hotly in my mouth as his fingers clutched at my shoulders. I swallowed his seed, licking him as the _petite mort_ racked his frame with shivers. He sighed.

Releasing his spent member, I gave a few harsh pants as my hands fumbled for my own hardness. The taste of Jeeves flooding my mouth had brought me to a level of arousal that was quite uncomfortable; I was mindless and desperate for my own release.

“Sir,” Jeeves insisted, quickly sliding to the ground between me and the tree. He grasped my exposed flesh with a skilled hand and began stroking. “Sir, let me return the favour.”

“Dash it, Jeeves,” I gasped. “Anything! Just... do something!”

Jeeves, sensing that I was in no condition to carry out a conversation, quickly produced a handkerchief from his pocket and stroke my arousal faster. When shortly after I cried his name and twitched in climax, he deftly caught my release with the handkerchief, and somehow managed to kiss me at the same time.

“Jeeves,” I rasped, shivering rather violently. “Jeeves, you're a marvel.”

“Thank you, sir. I aim to satisfy.”

“You do,” I told him, grinning. “You provide satisfaction in spades. And the, um, mess?”

Jeeves flicked the handkerchief into a nearby clump of undergrowth. “I believe, sir, that we quite efficiently prevented any unseemly staining.” He almost smiled at me, which is like a normal person laughing gaily.

“Oh, topping, old thing,” I said, feeling satiation drain me of any notable strength. “I say, it's a good thing we have a horse, what? I shouldn't like to have to walk all the way up to Brinkley now.”

“Indeed, sir. If I may suggest it, perhaps a short period of rest is advisable. And then we may attend to your request... Bertram,” Jeeves said, and his lips twitched in good-humoured anticipation.

“Oh, rather!” I agreed. “Nothing sounds more agreeable. Do you think we shall have time before the other hunters return, Jeeves?”

“If we return directly, sir.”

“Jolly good! Then we shall do so at once.”

“Very good, sir.”

***

Jeeves was as good as his word on the matter of a short rest. He had us both ensconced in my rooms, under the pretext of seeing to the damaged togs and my bath, and removed our garments in a jiffy. We climbed into bed, wearing nothing but our skins, and I curled up in Jeeves' arms with a sigh of utter contentment.

“You are sure the household staff won't be curious about what you're doing for so long in the young master's room, Jeeves?” I asked as Jeeves pulled the covers up around us.

“They are quite busy preparing the evening's banquet, sir. Monsieur Anatole will be overseeing the cooking of the food, but the full staff is required to prepare not only the food and wine, but also the large hall for dancing.”

“Well. Perhaps a quick nap, then, Jeeves?” I yawned.

“Mm.”

Jeeves is normally much more eloquent than that, but his reply was muffled by a large patch of my skin, which was suddenly covered by his mouth. And with him slowly kissing my neck and shoulders, I drifted off into a light slumber.

Said slumber, however, was pleasantly interrupted some time later. I woke in a state of light disorientation, and it took me some moments to find the reason for my waking. When it became obvious, however, I believe I flushed a deep crimson, and the little Wooster stirred and began taking an eager interest.

My back was pressed to Jeeves' chest, and Jeeves' manhood was apparently awake, even if the man himself was still breathing with the deep cadence of slumber. It, that is to say, Jeeves' manhood, was hard and pressing against my backside, and as I shifted slightly, I could feel it prod places where nothing had ever prodded me before.

Now, I trusted Jeeves implicitly. I would lay my life in his hands in an instant. My backside, however, was another matter altogether. Of course I didn't for a moment believe him capable of purposefully hurting me, but as I felt his hardness resting between my buttocks, I couldn't help but wonder if something quite so large could enter me without quite a lot of pain.

Jeeves always expressed his eager delight when I took him, assuring me that it was nothing if not pleasurable for him. But the little Jeeves was, I openly admit, a great deal thicker than the little Wooster, and somewhat longer, too. In short, they were quite proportionate to the men to whom they were attached, if you get my drift.

Jeeves is massive, in every respect. And I could not help but feel a little apprehension as I pondered his making entry into the virgin territory of Wooster, B.

As I was contemplating this, Jeeves stirred behind me, and I felt his lips pressed to my neck once more.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Jeeves purred, and that smile was back in his voice.

“Quite,” I muttered, still mulling the matter of virgin territory and massive manservants, over in my head.

Jeeves, the darling man, always senses when something has the young master preoccupied, and usually knows what to do with it. There is seldom any use for me to actually voice my complaints, unless they are of a sartorial nature, for Jeeves will know almost before I do, how the matter stands.

This was also the case on this occ.

“Bertie,” he murmured in my ear, and kissed it for good measure. “Is anything troubling you?”

“Does it hurt, Jeeves?” I blurted. I had meant to say something more along the lines of, “Go right ahead and bugger me now, Jeeves!” in cheerful tones, but the question rather sounded as if I was marching for the gallows.

Jeeves hugged me tighter to him, nibbling on my shoulder in between words. “Can I assume that you are referring to the act of sodomy, from a... recipient's point of view?”

“You assume correctly, Jeeves.”

“To address that matter, the answer is, not necessarily, Bertie,” Jeeves said. “If one is unprepared and uncomfortable with the idea, it can be pure agony. However, when one is eager...”

Here, he interrupted himself to slip a hand between the old Wooster pins. I gave a little start, feeling my half-hardness taken firmly in hand.

“... Relaxed...”

Jeeves stroked me a few times, and kissed my earlobe gently. I melted into his grip.

“... And well prepared, the experience can be a most delightful one. I should go so far as to say the sensations are far beyond euphoric.”

I turned around in his grasp, facing my man with a bit of a blush on the dial. My dial, that is. Jeeves' such was pale and smooth, as always.

“It's not that I don't want this, you understand,” I babbled. Bertram often babbles when he is confused or nervous, but Jeeves always smiles rather than frowns, so I suppose it can be born.

“I truly want to, ah, feel what you feel, Jeeves, when we... make love. But I'm not sure the bally thing will fit!”

Jeeves laughed then; softly and fondly. I buried my face in his neck and let him hold me, rather red, I'm afraid.

“You know the act is perfectly possible to carry out, Bertie.”

“Yes, but, dash it, you're... enormous!”

Jeeves' chuckles only added to my discomfort, though they usually make me feel positively privileged for hearing them.

“I am perhaps a little larger than you, Bertie, but I do not think it will matter. If you are not comfortable with the idea, we will not proceed. However, I am certain I should be able to prepare you sufficiently, considering my experience with the part you wish to play,” he said, and I was a little reassured.

I shifted far enough away from Jeeves to look him in the eye, trying to make him see how much I meant what I then said. “I wouldn't allow anyone else this kind of access to the young master, Jeeves.”

“I should hope not, sir, considering our gentlemen's agreement,” Jeeves said with a sly grin that utterly belied his polite tone.

“You have made a valid point, Jeeves. But despite a certain fear for the safety of the Wooster anatomy, I am inclined to... let you bugger me. Quite soon, before I change my mind, if you don't have any objections,” I declared.

Jeeves looked at me, and his face was inscrutable for a moment. Then he smiled faintly, sliding his body over mine.

“I will not take you against your will, Bertram. If you are absolutely certain that you desire this, I will proceed, and I will not stop until fully joined with you. But if you do not want this from me, you must tell me now.”

Jeeves rolled his hips against mine, and I moaned. The desire was quickly overtaking the fear in my mind; Jeeves calls this my most charming defect – whenever my d. is allowed to run wild, my mind has no say in the matter and nor does my body. And in such a condition, B. W. Wooster will do most anything that Jeeves asks, and everything that Jeeves doesn't ask.

“Please,” I groaned, “Jeeves. Please!”

“You want this, then, sir?”

“Yes!”

“You desire me to possess you in the basest way?”

“Oh, Jeeves, yes!”

“Then I will bugger you, Bertram, until you flinch to even _look_ at a hard seat.”

Throughout this little tête-a-tête, you must understand, Jeeves was continuously pressing his hips against mine in a circular motion that reduced the grey matter to a soft mass of uselessness. And whenever my man uses dirty words, or a commanding tone of voice – both of which, you'll have noticed, he was doing at present – what little is left of the Wooster intellect goes shooting out the... the... whatsit.

“Jeeehf,” I muttered, too lost in the sensation of Jeeves on top of me to say much else.

“Spread your legs, Bertie,” Jeeves said, his eyes dark with lust. He suddenly had our Vaseline in his hand; that little pot from the nightstand, you know.

I complied, looking up at Jeeves filled with eager, and somewhat embarrassed, lust. I'd never been in such a position before my man; that is to say, my pins spread and bent at the knee, and my hands clutching the pillow under my head. It was a rummy predicament, though a pleasant one.

Is predicament the word I want? I shall have to ask Jeeves later.

Jeeves, as if he had done nothing but bugger me all his life, did everything with a steady hand and no hesitation. I'm not ashamed to say that I was an utter novice at this game when we first played it, and Jeeves had to guide me through the steps of preparing him for entry. He, however, seemed to have no doubts of how to proceed, despite his claim that he had never been dominant in such a setting before.

“Jeeves,” I managed, as he slicked two of his fingers and gently touched them to my opening. “Have you really never done this before?”

“Never for another. But I have prepared myself on a number of occasions. Trust me, Bertie.”

I did, of course. Explicitly.

“I do, Jeeves; I trust you explicitly.”

“Implicitly, sir,” he corrected with a small grin. I notice he reverts to calling me sir at times when we make love; he seems utterly playful when he does so and I quite like it.

“Ah, yes, that. I trust you implicitly. Carry on, Jeeves.”

Jeeves pressed something inside me; one can only assume it was his finger. I gave a little gasp and squirmed a bit. To have one's anatomy invaded for the first time is an odd experience, I must admit.

“That feels rather rum, Jeeves.”

“Close your eyes, Bertie.”

I did as I was commanded, and Jeeves suddenly had my wilting hardness in his mouth, his tongue caressing it firmly. I let out a surprised moan, and felt myself harden once more.

“Jeeves!”

Suddenly, I felt myself being stretched, and gasped. I opened my eyes and looked up at Jeeves, the muscles of my posterior protesting slightly at the unusual sensations. He was looking at me intently; his cheeks held the faintest touch of aroused colour, and his lips were quirking upwards at the corners.

“You must relax, Bertie. I have two fingers inside you now.”

I reached for him. “Kiss me, Jeeves?”

He did, for which I was grateful – it was a lot easier to relax and enjoy the sensations of Jeeves' full length pressed against mine, than to enjoy the solitary feeling of his fingers in my what-d'you-call-it. And with Jeeves' tongue in one's mouth, one must be made of stone not to enjoy oneself.

Then something happened that this Wooster is not likely to soon forget. One moment, my lips were pressed to Jeeves', our limbs entangled as he slowly spread me open with two fingers. The next m., the entire world seemed to explode in pleasure so intense my vision blurred. My body bowed upwards in a taut arch, quite dislodging Jeeves.

“Jeeves!”

“Bertie?”

“Good Lord, Jeeves! What was that? Did I... you know, climax?”

Jeeves laughed then. “No, Bertie. My fingers stimulated your prostate gland. A pleasurable experience, is it not?”

I squirmed as his fingers rocked slowly in and out of me. “Jeeh... Jeeves! Pleasurable is... is...”

“Far too insufficient to describe the sensations,” Jeeves said, and he leaned down to kiss me again before thrusting his fingers in deep.

My eyes rolled back in my skull and I cried out. When he withdrew his fingers, I felt as if I would sink through the mattress. And before I knew what was going on, Jeeves' manhood was slipping inside me.

“I say!”

“There,” Jeeves said, in a warm tone as he slid deeper inside. “Not too uncomfortable, I trust?”

I grinned weakly up at him. “Jeeves, I'm... I'm dashed. However did you manage that, almost without my noticing?”

“The body is often sufficiently relaxed with the right amount of pleasure,” Jeeves purred, and moved over me to press our bodies together again. His hard flesh felt exquisite inside me; I rather wriggled around it, if you can imagine it.

“Well, carry on with the buggering, then, Jeeves,” I said, the old Wooster _joie de vivre_ returning in full store now that there was nothing but a mount of Jeeves to be worried about. Had I really been fussing over pain a mere hour before? I couldn't credit it!

“You feel exquisite, Bertie,” Jeeves murmured. He was kissing me slowly in between words, and I felt quite boomps-a-daisy, I don't mind saying! “Truly delightful.”

“Oh,” I replied, for the boomps-a-daisiness was such that my command of the English language had quite fled the old melon.

“I never knew... that taking a man... oh, Bertie!” Jeeves gasped, his hips rocking slowly against mine. Then he stilled, looked down at me with dark eyes, and smiled slightly. He somehow got his knees under my backside and sat back on his heels, and I was rather laid out in his lap, if you get me.

“Jeeves,” I whimpered, clutching the pillow under my head.

Jeeves' hands pulled my hips towards his own, coaxing my body to lift to his lips. His mouth was at my navel, then moved to my ribs, and playing over them, continued towards my nipple. When Jeeves' talented lips reached that particular feature of the Wooster breast, I gave a breathy moan and arched into the touch. I don't think my torso was at all touching the bed when Jeeves next rocked his hips slightly against mine.

My legs were trembling, shivering around Jeeves. My toes found purchase against the mattress and I pushed my hips harder against Jeeves', wanting him to press into me again.

“Please,” I groaned. “Please, Jeeves, more!”

Between my hips in Jeeves' lap and my head on the pillow, there was only air, and I felt quite as if I were flying – or, should I say, floating – in a blissful cloud of pleasure. My eyes rolled back in my skull again, and Jeeves' flesh twitched inside me.

I felt utterly fulfilled; Jeeves' hardness commanded all my attention where it rocked slowly inside my body. That my man was possessing me in such a primal way, sent shocks of delight and hunger through me, and not a breath left my lips without praising his name.

“Jeeves! Jeeves, oh, Jeeves...”

Jeeves looked up at me, still bent so his lips were inches from my skin. “May one assume... that this is to your liking, then?”

“Yes!”

“This pleases you, Bertie?” he said, his eyes dark and heated as he met my gaze.

“Aah, yes, yes, oh, Jeeves!”

“Then come for me, sir. Bertie,” Jeeves whispered into my skin, pushing us together in a rhythm that suited him. “Let me see you shatter in ecstasy.”

Jeeves' hardness in me brushed once more against that magical place inside me; the back arched and the legs trembled again, and I mewled in a way decidedly lacking in masculine dignity. When he discovered how to reach that particular spot in this posish, he began thrusting into it on every stroke, making me beg for more.

“Yes, Jeeves, yes, I will... I need... Jeeves!” I gasped.

And then Jeeves bit hard at the skin at my ribs, worrying the flesh with his teeth. The contrasting sensations sent me over the peak; I bucked against his hips, my fingers digging into the fabric of my pillow, my lips sobbing his name.

“Oh, Bertie,” Jeeves sighed, rocking against me faster yet. “To feel you climax around me... It's heaven, Bertie. Bertie... Bertie, Bertie, oh...”

Jeeves' mouth fell open and his breath hitched in his throat; I knew my man was close, and almost blushed to notice my release had spurted over his chest and neck. He bit into my skin again, just above my hip bone this time, and groaned softly as his own release overtook him.

Shuddering, he stilled within me, his dark hair tickling my stomach – it had become all mussed up during our short nap and the following hullabaloo. I was still panting; my lungs did not seem to be functioning properly.

“Jeeves,” I wheezed, “I think I am suffocating!”

Jeeves slowly raised his head, looking up at me with a tired smile. “Indeed, Bertie?”

“Well, no, but I shall... I shall bally well need a gasper,” I declared with my last breath.

Jeeves gently extracted himself from me and lowered my hips back to the bed. My limbs were all trembling as if I had been running with heavy weights in my hand for miles and miles. When Jeeves laid down, I pulled him to me so he was laying more on top of me than next to me.

“Jeeves,” I said quietly. “That was amazing.”

“I shall have to agree with you on that point, sir,” Jeeves said, and he smiled ever so slightly at me. “I consider the attempt on reversing our positions, a great success.”

Just then I noticed that the sheets were getting wet and sticky beneath my posterior, and that my muscles were once more taking up the angry slogans and attempting to march about in protest.

“I'm a little sore, Jeeves,” I said with a frown. “Should I be sore?”

“It is normal to be sore after such an endeavour,” Jeeves reassured me. He began kissing my neck, almost in an apologetic fashion.

I was a little worried when he said that. “Does that mean you feel such discomfort every time the young master, um, claims you, Jeeves?”

Jeeves smiled up at me, and then proceeded to press his lips languidly to my own. The liplock was allowed to carry on for quite some time before he replied.

“No, Bertie. I am accustomed to the sensations. A little tenderness, of course, sometimes occurs after our more... extravagant endeavours,” he said, with a little smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “A small sacrifice, considering the pleasure of the act itself.”

I grinned at my man. “True, Jeeves. Very true. Well, I certainly hope you enjoyed the dominance, for I was vastly contented with the submission.”

Jeeves chuckled again before delving back to kissing my neck. “I am gratified to hear it, sir. And the answer is yes. I enjoyed it immensely.”

***

“Bertie, where did you go to? We couldn't find you at all after we picked up the trail!”

“Um, yes, sorry about that, Angela, old thing. It was Jeeves, you see.”

“Jeeves? What does that brilliant man of yours have to do with you slinking off the hunt, eyesore?”

“I say, aged r.! I did not slink off anything; it was an utterly altruistic and gentlemanly sacrifice that caused me to abandon our noble efforts. Jeeves required my assistance.”

“What! Since when has Jeeves ever needed your help for anything?”

“I think I quite firmly resent your implication, aunt Dahlia. I can tell you that Jeeves' horse was stung by a passing bee or wasp; Jeeves didn't specify which. The animal panicked and threw Jeeves off. Really, with the bally race horses you have stabled here, I'm surprised the man didn't break his neck! Even experienced riders, such as yours truly, would have been in deadly peril.”

“Good Lord! Jeeves – thrown off a horse? I would have thought the animal should have more respect for its betters than that, my little Attila.”

“How frightfully exciting, Bertie! Was he hurt?”

“Oh, no, he was perfectly healthy. But I couldn't well leave the man to walk back to the old homestead, now could I? Hardly behaviour befitting a Wooster, what? So I offered him a lift, as it were, on my horse.”

“Dashed goofy of you, Bertie. I'm sure the other horse would have come back eventually.”

“Nonsense, Angela! He could have been hurt! What would we do without Jeeves looking after old dogface here? No, Bertie, it was very white of you to assist him. You do the family honour, when you bother.”

“Why, thank you, aged relation. And have no fear; Bertie and his faithful man will be back in the saddles tomorrow morning. Ah, Jeeves, there you are. Looking forward to the hunt tomorrow, aren't we?”

“Indeed, sir.”

“We'll hope the wasps have all died for the winter before then, what?”

“Quite, sir.”

“Jolly good!”

***

“I say, Jeeves... Now that we are finally ensconced in our own little nest, what say you we retire to the bedroom, eh?”

“I wholeheartedly approve of the scheme, sir. Perhaps you would like to resume our standard arrangement in that department, as well?”

“Golly, Jeeves! You mean you would like me to, ah, take you rather than the other way around?”

“If that is agreeable to you, sir.”

“Well, I don't know, Jeeves. It was a rather pleasing experience...”

“You mean, sir, that you now prefer the submissive position as well?”

“I think I do, Jeeves. Will that be a problem, do you think?”

“By no means, sir. If I might make a suggestion?”

“Suggest away, old thing.”

“In order to attain fulfilment for us both – please do not snigger, sir; the pun was not intended – I suggest that you bugger me to find your own release, whereupon I -”

“Sodomize the young master in return, what?”

“Precisely, sir.”

“I say, Jeeves, that brain of yours is in top form today! Let's get to the buggering, then, shall we?”

“Lead the way, sir.”


End file.
